


Bottom's Up

by cryingoverspilledvodka, lucycamui



Series: The Victuuri Humor & Fluff Collection [5]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Autographs in questionable places, Chris is having the time of his life, Comedy, Flirting, Grand Prix Final Banquet, Humor, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Victor suffers but he's happy about it, Yuuri is a drunken tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 05:30:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10210616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryingoverspilledvodka/pseuds/cryingoverspilledvodka, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucycamui/pseuds/lucycamui
Summary: At the Grand Prix banquet, Victor's been asked to sign an autograph for a very enthusiastic fan. Unfortunately, there's a distinct lack of paper around. Fortunately, Yuuri has a suggestion.Alternatively titled,"Ever Seen An Ass So Fine You Had To Sign It 'Mine'?or"Autograph Me (Wherever You'd Like)"





	

**Author's Note:**

> This crack fic (get it?) is dedicated to all the lovely shippers on the [ Victuuri Fic Rec Tumblr](http://victuurificrec.tumblr.com) that helped bring us together. #lucyoverspilledvodka

Yuuri made the very bold decision that champagne was going to be his best friend that night. 

In addition to being a Japanese national treasure and abysmal one-time Grand Prix failure, Yuuri was also a major Victor Nikiforov fanboy. And on top of all that, he was drunk. He was frustrated. He had his idol right in front of him.

He was going to get what he always wanted.

“Viiiiiiiiiiiiictor~!”

Yuuri stumbled over, his champagne-glazed eyes wide and glistening at the bored-looking Russian standing in a corner. Where he had been standing for most of the night. Yuuri knew because he had been sneaking peeks over at him before _and_ after every glass of champagne, until that delightful buzz of alcohol made going over to him seem like the best possible idea in the world.

"Victor!! I-..." Yuuri swayed a little in his spot, attention wandering for a short moment—because _fucking hell_ he was actually going to do this—before settling back on Victor, determination flaring through him. "I-... I love you! Soooooo much. You know, you’re-… you’re amazing. I mean, you’re great. Really great.” All the reasons why Victor was so great jumbled themselves up together in Yuuri’s mind, so he gave up on the inclination of trying to explain why Victor was so great, and jumped to the thing he really wanted to say. “AndIreallywannagetyourautograph."

Now, Victor had a lot of experience dealing with fans. Of all types. Shy and respectful, the kind that approached simply to ask for a handshake and offer soft words of appreciation. Overly excited and jumping, the kind that tended to ask for selfies and hugs. Casual and knowledgeable, the kind that made remarks about his last short program and could carry a decent conversation. There was the occasional odd experience, like the man in France who asked to kiss his feet on a train or the woman in Korea who only talked about the hair commercials he had done for Shiseido back when he was seventeen.

Admittedly, sometimes there happened to be fans who were quite attractive, quite flirty, and quite obvious. And while Victor certainly did not mind that, he had never taken advantage.

However, he found himself at present in the very precarious position of wanting very much to take advantage, as the man who had just simpered up to him was unbearably hot. And to make matters worse, this bundle of sensual energy and bright brown eyes was also utterly wasted, if the way he nearly threw himself into Victor’s arms was any indication.

“I- uh,” Victor stammered, for once unsure how to handle the situation. Common sense instructed him to find a way to detach himself from the smaller man but that gorgeously crooked smile instructed him to listen to any and every request which came from it. “I don't have any paper.”

The pout that answered him should have been illegal, and the dark-haired man seemed to think about that for a moment before something evidently dawned on him, his gorgeous round face lighting up.

“Sign me!” he exclaimed, sending Victor's eyebrows somewhere up past his fringe with shock. The man giggled, a warm sound that filled Victor up like water. “Wherever you like!” He then added on, smile widening, obviously pleased at his own idea.

Some part of Yuuri’s brain that was not awash in alcohol and the fact that Victor fucking-hot-as-hell Nikiforov was actually in the same room as him reminded him of a joke Phichit had once made. _If you ever got Victor's signature you could get it tattooed on you!_ And truth be told, Phichit was a genius. Why that had seemed like such a hilarious joke back then was lost on Yuuri. It seemed like a brilliant idea. Fuck Japanese taboos, Yuuri lived in Detroit now!

"Sign my chest!" Yuuri scrambled to try to undo the buttons of his shirt, some of which were already undone—although he did not remember at what point that had happened—only to find them infuriatingly slippery under his fumbling fingers. "W-... I can t-totally do this... Wait just a sex, Victor—a sec!" Yuuri laughed at his own slip.

And just like that, Victor was screwed. Because drunk-and-gorgeous was stripping—stripping!—and _fuck_ , everything underneath the already mussed up shirt made the situation so much worse and so much better. Victor could not think fast enough to try to stop him, and the next moment the white shirt flapped completely open, revealing to Victor a very well-toned body, with a striking curve just at the junction of the man's hips.

Victor wasn't screwed—he was royally fucked.

“Ta-dah!” the man cried, grinning triumphantly at his newfound nakedness. Victor audibly gulped, hands hovering between the two of them as he didn't have the faintest idea where to put them. Well, he had one idea. But he was trying to grasp at a single remaining tendril of control, trying to figure out how exactly he should respond.

Yuuri blinked and waited, watching as the unfairly handsome Russian so clearly tried to search for something to say.

And waited.

And waited.

...Maybe Victor didn't want to sign his chest. Although his blue eyes seemed to be raking in the sight of Yuuri's skin. However, there were other options available, if Victor preferred something else. Yuuri was very open to any sort of option that involved Victor.

"Or!" Yuuri spun around, craning forward at the waist just slightly. "Or you could.. you c-could sign my ass!"

Victor's mouth dropped open. He gaped for a moment, maybe two, stretching into three, as shock gripped him. “You—? You want me to sign...?”

“My ass!” Yuuri cried happily, twisting his waist so he could glance at Victor over his shoulder. 

_God, how could he bend like that?!_ Victor was a world-class athlete and he certainly could not bend like that. He was suddenly struck by the mental image of just how much that gorgeous, curved waist could arch, preferably under Victor's hands, or maybe— 

Okay! Stop, stop!

This guy was clearly plastered. There was no way he was in any condition to consent to any of this, right? Victor had to be a decent person. A decent, sensible and respectful person. He had to turn the man down.

But then a look of confusion crossed the man's face as Victor had still said nothing to his reaffirmed offer. And he turned around, snaking arms around Victor's waist and pulling him flush. Hips to hips and everything meeting in-between. 

Victor had to bite his bottom lip to stop any kind of noise from escaping. This was ridiculous. When he did start finding messy drunks this attractive? Admittedly, most messy drunks he had met did not have such striking brown eyes, pouty pinks lips and a set of abdominals that looked like they had been cut out of a magazine. His black hair was messed and blue-framed glasses crooked, and Victor only found that all the more charming.

“What's wrong?” he asked, wide eyes glazed but searching. Yuuri's brain was working double-time to try to process everything. Why wasn't Victor responding to him? Was he speaking Japanese? …No, definitely English. And Victor spoke English. Accented, deep, sexy English. With the rolled r's and broad intonations. Yuuri had watched enough interviews to know that. Victor's sexy English was prime feature number two on Yuuri's list of _Things About Victor Nikiforov That Turn Me The Fuck On._

“Is my ass not good enough for you? You don’t like it?”

“Oh, no! No! Your ass is great!” The words slipped before Victor was unable to help himself, more flustered by the second. How could this beautiful creature think such a thing? Didn't he know how good looking he was? If he didn't, he was about to find out very soon how attractive Victor found him, as the man's drunken swaying was stirring up a very telling giveaway.

"Then why don't you sign it, Viiiiictor?" he asked, and turned back around, bending over to give Victor the full view, perhaps accidentally-on-purpose letting said backside bump its way along Victor's frontside.

Victor groaned, half-exasperated and half-delighted. 

The aforementioned ass pressed right up against where Victor could only dream of it being. He tipped his head up to the ceiling, praying to God or anyone else who might be listening. For what, Victor couldn't say for sure. He knew he should be praying for salvation, but honestly, Victor would rather be granted a private space with drunk-and-gorgeous.

Actually...

Okay. Maybe Victor was going to hell. The man rolled his hips a little and Victor canted forward, unable to stop himself. He bit his lip again, not sure what noise would've come out of him at the contact. Yep. Definitely hell. This was wrong. So wrong. Very wrong. In so many ways. But those were also definitely and indisputably bedroom eyes he was getting, and if Victor was going to hell, he might as well live in the meantime. 

“Don't you think—” Victor swallowed, but then those hips _rocked_ against him again, and he was gone. “Don't you think this is a bit public for such an endeavor?” Victor suggested, hands coming down onto the man's hip as he sold himself over to hell in exchange for everything in front of him. The man's body was warm beneath his fingers and when Victor brushed skin, his stomach felt like it was turning inside out.

And Yuuri felt exactly the same. Because Victor Nikiforov's hands were on his hips. Meaning that at some point during the night Yuuri had died and gone to heaven. Or was simply adding on to his collection of wild dreams starring one such gorgeous legendary Russian. Either way though, dead or dreaming, meant that Yuuri had no intention of letting this fantasy come to life get cut short. Especially not when Victor leaned into him.

"W-whaddaya mean?" Yuuri asked brightly. Victor looked conflicted. Like he needed a little bit of encouragement. Skating legend or not, maybe this was the first time he had been asked to sign a body part? Although, that was a little hard to believe. Victor was hot enough that drunk Yuuri might have asked him to do if even if he didn't know who Victor was. Just as an excuse to get within prime admiring range. 

Then Victor's fingertips brushed along Yuuri's skin and he couldn't help but _moan_ , wiggling into the touch. "Viiiiictor. Just f—… just sign me, please."

Victor's heart stopped. The man caught himself slipping on words again, but not before Victor got the impression he was about to say something else entirely. Especially with a goddamn moan right before it. 

Victor's grip tightened, fingers pressing into the soft skin of the other’s lower waist, tipping down around his navel and pulling the man backwards, ass pressed now even more firmly against Victor's groin. Which was becoming very obviously interested embarrassingly fast. The right thing to do at that moment would be to push the other away. Separate himself from the situation entirely. Or else simply drag the dark-haired man out to the hall and then into a utility closet somewhere. Because didn’t Victor deserve something a little wild and reckless now and then?

“You're really something,” Victor muttered, sounding breathless even to himself. There was another sinful little moan again, and his back arched up as he glanced at Victor over his shoulder. Some part of Victor was immensely curious about the type of thanks he might receive for following through on the request, “Do you have a pen?”

The man blinked at him with his deep, brown eyes for a moment before his eyebrows knitted together. A shock of something went straight through Victor at the sight, because in that moment the sensual and beautiful thing in front of him was also adorable. And what a number that combination was doing to his heart and that dull ache building low in his abdomen.

“No,” he replied slowly, before his face contorted into one of absolute misery. “… So you’re not gonna sign me?”

Victor was about to suggest that he could kiss his name across every part of the man's skin, if he wanted, before he thought better of it. Instead, Victor looked around the banquet. The two of them were somewhat estranged, over towards a darker corner by one of the exits, as the man had accosted him on his way back from the restroom. No one seemed to be paying them too much attention, except for—

“Chris!” Victor called out, releasing one of his hands—quite regrettably—to wave Chris over, who was standing at a nearby table with one of the women’s skaters.

There was a small noise of protest in front of Victor, so he slipped his other arm completely around the man's waist, hand skimming across the burning skin there. Victor's head fell forward at the feeling of the curved abdomen beneath him, forehead meeting the beautiful resistance of the man's shoulder.

Yuuri felt like he was on one hell of a buzzed roller coaster. Up with when Victor pulled him in, sounding like his tongue was tied in knots as he stumbled over words to whisper what seemed like it could be a compliment in Yuuri's champagne-soaked mind. Then plummeting down when Victor stated he had no pen. Frankly, Yuuri considered that to be just irresponsible. A man like Victor should be carrying silver sharpies wherever he went in the case a drunk Japanese skater decided to grind up on him with the request. Then back up again the coaster climbed when Victor's arm wrapped around Yuuri's waist. Way the fuck up. 

"Chriiiiiiiis," Yuuri whined when he saw the Swiss skater approach, smirking to hell and back at them. "Chris, Victor won't sign my ass, make him sign it for me!!!"

Victor was blushing, he knew it. But there was nothing to be done about it. Chris sauntered over, looking unbearably pleased with himself. When he was standing right in front of Victor and his... fan, he smirked broadly.

“Victor,” Chris chimed and Victor tried to push down his immediate regret at getting Chris involved. “Need help with… something?”

“Yes, actually,” Victor said, knowing that he should probably ask Chris if he knew this man or where his hotel room is. For purely gentlemanly reasons of course. And yet—

“Do you have a pen?”

Chris raised a perfect eyebrow. “Not what I expected you'd be requesting.”

“Chris~” Yuuri sang the blond skater’s name. “Victor doesn't have a pen! Can you believe that? So unprofessional!'

"I agree, _mon amour_ , very unprofessional," Chris confirmed, the amusement thick in his voice as he watched Yuuri shift back further into Victor, who looked the perfect combination of delighted, flustered and uncomfortable in a special kind of way. "But I'm afraid I don't have one either."

Yuuri pouted. Stuck out his lower lip as far it could go and then let his head fall back onto Victor's shoulder, gazing up at the Russian man through heavy eyelashes. Instantly reminded of how gorgeous Victor was. That jawline could cut diamonds. Yuuri was rather tempted to press his pout against it. The tips of Victor's ear were stained pink as well, sending Yuuri a very clear invitation to nip at them. He didn't though. "Oh, oh, ask the officials, Chris! They'll have a-.... a marker… or something!"

Yuuri might have stumbled across the room to one of them himself if he wasn't more preoccupied in keeping his ass pressed flush against Victor's groin because... honestly that had always been a life goal and when would he ever have the chance again?

“Oh, Yuuri.” Chris practically sang and Victor blinked, surprised.

“His name is Yuuri?” he asked, perhaps a little quietly, the fact that he had watched a Yuuri skate with a mild sort of interest earlier dawning on him. Then, said-Yuuri squirmed in Victor's arm, ass grinding beautifully right where Victor wanted it.

“Who's Yuuri?” Yuuri asked drunkenly, looking around him with a suspicious frown. "I'm the best Yuuri. Right, Victor? I’m your favorite Yuuri?”

“I'd say you're his favorite everything right now, _chéri_ ,” Chris teased, earning him a glare from Victor. “Perhaps we should leave the officials out of this. Maybe try reception? Or maybe Victor just left his pen back in his room?”

Chris winked and Victor felt more than heard Yuuri giggle at his words. His grip of Yuuri tightened, maybe a little possessively.

"If I... If I went to his room, I'd forget about-... about the signature!" Yuuri laughed and tried to wink at Chris but instead ending up closing both his eyes. He kept them closed for a long moment, swimming in champagne and the feeling of Victor's arm still around his waist. Who knew Grand Prix banquets could be this amazing. "And I really really _really_ want his signature!"

Chris laughed and took pity on his drunk friend. "All right, darling, I'll get you a pen. Although Victor would probably mark you up in other ways if you asked him!" Chris smirked proudly and left the two in order to go fetch the dually-requested pen.

Yuuri settled himself in Victor's arms as he waited, very taken in by the shining cuff links in the Russian's suit sleeve, absent mindedly stroking his fingers over the back of Victor's wrist as he studied them.

Chris returned after too long and too short a minute, holding out a thin black felt-tip marker. Yuuri grabbed at it eagerly and then twirled around, pressing it into Victor's hands. "Yay! Victor, sign me! Oh wait, wait, I know here!" Quickly as he could, he undid the fastening of his trousers and almost fell over trying to get them off, stripping down so that Victor could sign his underwear.

Victor felt his brain shut down. Oh god, oh god, oh god- was this happening? Here? Right _now?_

Yuuri's trousers opened in a very inviting v, black boxers revealing themselves. Victor held his hands aloft, the damned pen almost slipping from his fingers as he found himself utterly transfixed.

Yuuri's hands struggled a little with trying to slip his trousers down further. Victor sent a panicked glance towards Chris, who looked too much like a child on Christmas morning about to open his present. Except, if this was anyone's present it was Victor's.

“Alright! Hold on!” Victor finally managed, taking Yuuri's hands in his own to stop him from stripping any further. “How about we work our way down?”

Yuuri stared at Victor with a dazed look, beautiful brown eyes blinking dreamily.

“But Victor~” he whined, voice so sweet that Victor wanted to kiss him to see if he could taste it. “I've already waited so- so much! And you have pen now! Right?”

Yuuri hopped a little on his toes, pressing his warm and close to naked body up against Victor in a way that was just sinful. How could Victor deny him?

Victor gave him a shaky _okay_ and Yuuri threw his arms to the sky in celebration, letting his shirt hang open with the banquet room lights reflecting off his skin.

"Chris, Chris, ohmygod I'm g-gonna get… Victor Nikiforov's autograph!" he exclaimed happily and then kicked his trousers off the rest of the way, throwing them into the Swiss skater's arms. For safe keeping. Or something.

Chris looked mighty happy about it regardless. "Like hell you are, Yuuri." He confirmed cheekily, but Yuuri did not notice the glare Victor threw him in response.

"Come on, Victor~" Yuuri pleaded, blinking up at the Russian. Victor holding his hands was another life goal. But right now he wanted those hands dragging ink across his buttocks. Yuuri turned back around and bent over practically in half, purposefully swaying his hips from side to side. "Sign it!"

As invitations went, it was most certainly not the worst Victor had ever gotten. Swallowing thickly and very, very aware of Chris's eyes on him, Victor put a hand on Yuuri's lower back to steady his swaying form.

Unfortunately, the image of his hand splayed flat and pale against the smooth skin of Yuuri's back from where his shirt had ridden up sent all thoughts tumbling down south. Very, very south to a particular destination.

Chris whistled lowly, causing Victor to look back at him—caught red handed as it were. Chris was smiling terribly smugly and he gave Victor an exaggerated salute. “You know, I think you two have figured it out,” he teased, turning on his heel, throwing a wave over his shoulder as he left. “Try not to get any ink on that nice shirt, Yuuri!”

Yuuri waved back with enthusiasm and shouted, " _Okay!_ " before turning his full attention back to the man standing behind him and oh—that was a sight. Did all Russians blush that beautifully? The red hue was such a great contrast across his alabaster skin.

Alone, or relatively in their dark corner of the banquet hall, Victor turned his eyes to the matter at hand. Or rather, the ass that was presented to him held firm under Victor's own grip. Taking a shaky breath, Victor uncapped the pen with his teeth.

Slowly—perhaps more slowly than he should allow himself as Yuuri was so drunk and oh god, Victor was evil, wasn't he?—Victor dragged his hand down Yuuri's back, hooking his fingers underneath Yuuri's undergarment waistband.

Yuuri shivered as Victor's fingers danced down his back, feeding every single teenaged (and adult) fantasy he had ever had about a very particular silver-haired Russian. Too bad Phichit wasn't here. Phichit would have died. Taken photos and died. Yuuri really wanted photos.

Victor tugged the offending article of clothing down just a little, just enough to reveal the round curve of one cheek of the very delectable looking ass in front of him. “ _Fuck_ ,” Victor said before he could stop himself, pen quivering in his hand as he slowly went to sign his name.

His name. A physical signature on another person. This person. Yuuri. Beautiful, sexy, drunk Yuuri.

For a second Yuuri's heart flopped all over the place when he thought Victor was going to keep pulling down, all the way, but at this point Yuuri would have let him. Felt-tip marker scrawled Victor's name across his skin and Yuuri craned, twisting at the waist to look down at it.

There it was. _Victor Nikiforov_ , impossibly elegant, the glistening black ink a stark contrast against Yuuri’s skin. Victor’s name written across his ass, like some sort of claim.

Yuuri started laughing.

And couldn’t stop. 

"Oh my god. I-... I meant, not like that.... I thought you were gonna sign my shorts!"

Victor froze, pen really falling from his hand this time. His mouth opened a few times, but he was speechless. Unable to form anything as the only thought running through his head was variations of _FUCK_ very much distinct from the ones he had uttered earlier.

Yuuri twisted his body around, trying to see the signature itself again before he completely disintegrated into a fit of giggles, one hand just pulling his underwear back up.

“I- I can't believe you did that!” Yuuri laughed, his voice tinkling like the champagne glasses around them. Victor felt heat erupt up through him, bleeding out across his face. Yuuri opened his scrunched up eyes, blinking as he took Victor in. “Victor... Victor, you're really red. You're so red.”

Yuuri suddenly had both hands up and over his mouth as he laughed again, eyes closing and Victor resisted the urge to cover his own face in the rapidly growing shame he was suffocating in.

“A red Russian!” Yuuri chuckled, bouncing up and down a little on the heels of his feet. “Get it?”

Victor did get it. And what it was, was that Victor was an idiot. A really, really big idiot who had not only taken a huge advantage, but had also done in to the most embarrassing way he could possibly have done so.

Coming back with a tumbling crash of guilt, Victor just caught himself from reaching out and gripping Yuuri's narrow shoulders.

“Oh, God! I'm sorry!” he said, meeting Yuuri's eyes which were now frowning at him, confused by his sudden exclamation. “I can't, I really can't believe I— Let me sign something else for you! Something proper!”

Yuuri always thought Victor was the most beautiful when he was skating. Graceful artwork weaving intricate dances on ice. Had always been, since Yuuri first saw him on that old television screen. Yuuri was wrong. This Victor, flushed and stuttering, was the most beautiful thing Yuuri had ever seen. Yuuri was pretty sure he had eaten strawberries less red than Victor.

Throwing his arms around Victor's shoulders, Yuuri nuzzled against his neck, feeling the heat radiating off his skin. This was much, much better. Forget getting his underwear signed, when he got to have the feeling of Victor's hands caressing his ass.

"You already signed me proper enough," Yuuri giggled again and bumped his hips teasingly against Victor's. He was ecstatic. This was unbelievable. Victor Nikiforov had actually signed his ass. He needed to show someone!

"Thank you, Victor!" Yuuri declared and then, deciding that the Russian deserved a proper thanks, pressed his lips firmly to Victor's cheek. Then a few more, up the side of his face to exhale against his ear before peeling himself off.

"Chris!! You gotta see this!" Yuuri shouted enthusiastically across the room, and stumbled away to show off his new ink to the Swiss. 

Victor just watched helplessly as the Swiss laughed with Yuuri, and helped the drunken man back into his trousers, wondering what the hell he could possibly do to try to save himself from such an embarrassment. 

He didn’t have to wait too long, as not long after, Yuuri came back, smiling brighter than any gold medal Victor had ever seen. 

Yuuri winked at the shared secret between them, grasped Victor’s hands, and then… asked him to dance.

**Author's Note:**

> [Now illustrated by the lovely crimsonchains](https://crimson-chains.tumblr.com/post/160856438078/a-commission-for-lucycamui-w-based-off-her)


End file.
